The Downfall Of Us All
by Oblivious Obsession
Summary: The after effects of a sociopathic, depressed and destructive eighteen-year old girl. Her future will be in the hands of one flight, one chance, one bank account, one boy and countless of memorable places and people. All Human.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters mentioned below in this story, Stephenie Meyer does.

Summary: The after effects of a sociopathic, depressed and destructive eighteen-year old girl. Her future will be in the hands of one flight, one chance, one bank account, one boy and countless of memorable places and people.

A/N: Just an Introduction to the character Isabella, her life and the people that revolve around her.

This isn't the first time I've written a fanfiction, I've written a couple years ago. As I read them now, I laugh at my idiotic writing. I've matured though thus my writing has too. I want this to be a different and unique kind of story, but doesn't everyone want their story to be different too. I just hope mine catches your eye and intrigues you the most. I don't want the typical; girl meets boy, girls falls in love, girl breaks up with boy, girl gets back together with boy and lives happily ever after. That doesn't seem realistic so I'm going to try to write something real, something that doesn't sound like it's a fairytale because life doesn't go that way.

Enough with this bickering, I really do hope you, the reader, enjoys this. Also, if there are any grammatical errors, please feel free to point them out.

In Memory of Christopher Owens 1993-2011

Introduction: On the Fringe of Lunacy

Let be begin by telling you that this isn't some typical tale of a teenager that loses their path in life, their will and motivation and in the end finds their way back into the right path, the proper road and successfully lives happily ever after with very little bumps during the way. This is about an intricate tale of woe, self-mutilation, self-destruction and a girl that annihilates herself completely and there is no end and no way to neither stop nor have enough.

As I search back into my decrepit and irrevocable life, I don't think I have ever been happy. Maybe I've been sad for far too long that I can't remember my last happy thought. Happiness, for me, is overrated; I don't think happy is ever possible, there is always something that will displease you, something that peeves you or something that destructs you in an irreparable way. Those people that believe in 'positive thinking' disgust me, it's all messed up and all in their head. They start to believe it when in reality; it's the total opposite way. How can you possibly be happy in this inconsiderate and messed up world, life and universe? It won't matter in the end, maybe it will, but I've given up a long time ago.

Everything I do is useless, every single bit of it. I envy those who try hard to turn those 'sins into diamonds', a saying a close person to my heart said once. I envy them because they believe they can do it. I can't, don't get me wrong, I do pray and try my very best not to sin. It's not enough though; God may forgive me but I'll never forgive myself.

Life sucks, then I'll die, then life will suck even more as I burn and rot in hell. I've said it before and I'll say it again; my actions are useless, worthless and will never ever mean anything to anyone or anything. I breathe, eat, sleep and do everything a living thing or person would typically do but I'm dead inside. There is nothing left.

It takes all the energy for me to lift my eyes open in the morning, my feet to get off the bed and my brain to work. I dread eating, working, thinking, going to school, speaking, and every action a typical human would perform. I dreaded all of it but sleep, it's like you're dead for a little while, you don't worry, stress, think, or feel anything. It was all too good and inconceivable to happen in my life, and thus as my self-hatred and self-destruction grew it became the thing I dreaded the majority of the time. I started having nightmares, I woke up crying, and screaming sometimes and so my life leisurely became a living hell. Does it every get better? I don't think so.

It's all a long story of how the past molded me into this person right now that I'm not pleased with at all, someone that screws up and can never get anything right, a stupid worthless and insignificant person. Don't try to contradict that, because I am aware of my actions and what they portray about me. It's true, don't waste your precious time pitying me and trying to save me as those people I will tell you about later on did.

Let me start off by saying that I am a master at disguising my feelings, if you take one look at me, you would envy me. To the eye, I'm a 'social' person, a great communicator, a good listener, always smiling, careless and wise; everything you would want. The eye is truly deceiving because from the inside I'm the opposite. That is how I learnt to not judge others by their physical features, their characteristics and most importantly their actions.

Here you go, the tale of woe, a day-to-day story of me. I don't know where to begin, but let me start out by saying the very beginning; the first time I've cried, as a newborn.

My mother married young and after 11 months I was born. My existence was a mistake; here is why. I was born 2 months early therefore it was a premature birth. My mother freshly married was terrified of her physical image, thus barely eating and lacking the will to take vitamins as I grew in her stomach. After seven months, everything was going according to the doctors' plan, I was to be born a Scorpio but a repugnant matter took place and the umbilical cord that connected me to my mother, that supplied me nutrients and oxygen to live, tore. My mother went to the hospital with intolerable stomach pain and was urgently put into surgery. After the caesarean section (c-section), I was born into the world a Virgo. I was supposed to die, if only though.

If I survived that, then there was a reason to live, right? No, there isn't though. You know what saddens me the most, I was hating life before all those traumatic events, that happened to me as a kid, but at least I was careless, it didn't matter, I smiled and laughed and screwed anything that ruined my moments of appreciation. Alas I grew up, became a teenager, my hatred grew, my regrets gnaw, and my life spins and devours me and my pain turns numb.

My parents, overly protective, wanted me to be what they couldn't be. They inconsiderately and indiscreetly raised me, for all they cared was the end result and did what it would take for it to happen even if that road hurt, just as long their desired outcome occurred.

I frequently heard of those abusive parents, it happens but I never thought it would happen to me. Don't get me wrong, it's not my parents fault, it's mine. I've done things I'm not proud of and deserved every hit I took for them.

The first memory I remember as a kid, a disturbing one, is when I was young, very young, probably four or five, I came into my parents room searching for my mother and came across a pair of shiny scissors on the table and chopped half of my hair. My father came in the room, shouted at me, screamed for my mother and grabbed my hand and hit it fairly hard. After that day, I don't think I glanced at my father the same. I feared him and as I grew up, the fear grew into something so strong, I became terrified, paranoid and anxious all the time.

My father believes that a woman should be in charge of raising a family; he says it's a saying that goes on the lines of "all great men were raised by only mothers." Therefore, he let the raising to my mother and he helped with the discipline in his ways that I find destructing and condemning.

Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, they put me in this world and I am so grateful for that. They taught me right from wrong and everything that I needed to survive in this world. I only wish they raised me differently than the way they did, because right now my outcome is displeasing and unquestionable. They taught me everything, so why did I turn out so ineptly and shamefully? I truly despised and loathed myself.

My mother was all I had after I started fearing my dad, but that changed. My mother is amazing, so caring and thought of you all the time. Her heart is full of love and appreciation and she saw the best in you at all times. Nothing lasts forever; she lost her temper one day and slapped me. I remember it was something stupid; it was in my room and I didn't want to do something she forced me to do and thus it happened. It started happening numerous of times after that, as I was a kid, and one day I cried much more than I usually did and ran to my mother wanting her to fill me in her arms. She insisted I apologize and I sat on her lap and she promised me and swore never to hit me again.

I was elated; I smiled in her arms, and left her room several minutes later. Once again, another heart-warming memory turning cold and corrupt, my mother betrayed me in the worst way possible, she hit me again months or years later, I can't remember. All I know is I've had that memory glued on to my brain like a paper stuck to a paper with super-glue. How can my own dear and loving mother betray me? I loathed myself, I've done something wrong I guess because everyone I have ever loved just started hating me, betrayed me, and watched me with disapproving eyes. Why did that happen, why does anything every happen?

The first self-destructive thing I've done I think is the first time I've cut myself. It was a week after my father almost suffocated me to death. This is what happened, I was using the Internet after 'internet hours' on an exam night and I think he might have thought I've done something 'shameful'. He is over-protective and as he caught me in the living room, at night alone in the dark on 'deviant-art' he gasped and sent me to my room. It amazes me how I remember, but how could I have forgotten since I wore those plain grey flannel pajamas and whenever I wore them or just place my sight on them I would collapse and go into posttraumatic stress disorder.

I knew I've done nothing wrong, but I was petrified, my father was irrational, unreasonable and sometimes absurd at his punishments. I sat on my bed in the dark, shaking and trembling in my locked room as I heard my parents argue about me. My father then came banging on my room door, telling me to open the door and he petrified me further and me with my Virgo characteristics decided to be stubborn and refuse to open it. He insisted that he knew I wasn't sleeping since it was not long ago that I came into my room. He left shouting and came back with a hard object that banged so loudly on my door that after very little blows broke the door. I was still on my bed, hands covering my ears and my eyes shut tightly, I knew he came in as I heard the lights click on and before I had time to open my eyes something shoved me so hard, knocking me down on the bed. My father beat me, everywhere and after I shouted and screamed and struggled, his shouts became louder and louder. My mother watched, saying very little then kept quiet and continued to watch. My father placed his big hands and wrapped it around my thin neck and squeezed very hard and shook me.

I'll never forget what he told me. He told me something that meant that I made him do all of this and I was to blame. My father stopped after my screams became gasps and he fled without saying another word. After a while, my mother came and grabbed me down to his living room and forced me to apologize and insisted me to hug him. I knew deep down he should have been the one to apologize and ask for forgiveness but the more I thought of it, the more I knew he was right. It is all my doing. My mother filed for divorce and left me with my father to, shockingly, go to her boyfriend Phil and live with him. Doesn't really surprise me that she left me like that, she never really did care, leaving me just made it permanent.

I told you, I am the one to blame for all the awful, shocking and terrible things that happen in my life. It is all, my fault, because I can't possibly do anything right in my life and I ruin everything. Everything and anything I touch breaks or turns to stone. My mother once told me that; there were many objects that fell out of my hands once they fell in my hands. Now, four years later at the age of eighteen, I started to feel that way about the people I met and once I met Edward, I believed it more than I have ever had.


End file.
